


Gravity

by Lizzy0305



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Bonding, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Touch-Telephaty, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzy0305/pseuds/Lizzy0305
Summary: After an almost fatal accident, Spock wakes in sickbay. An accidental touch from Kirk pushes him off the course of logic and sends him toward a spiralling plunge into emotions. A crash is inevitable, when gravitation pulls them together.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 34
Kudos: 433





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> _Well, i somehow stumbled down this rabbithole AGAIN, then thanks to this amazing artist called **thefuzzyaya** , I went even deeper. Go find them on Tumblr, they have amazing art. Absolutely beautiful.  
> It's been like ten years since I've last written anything to this fandom, so please forgive my... well... everything. Also, i finally remembered where my hand kink comes from... so that's good... yeah?  
> Thanks Sexy.Lil.Emo for the edit. This is partly your fault too, darling, I hope you know that.  
> Stay safe folks!_

He wakes to a light whirring of the ship, that constant buzz that his ears have gotten used to over the years he has served aboard one. The familiar scent of filtered air surrounds him, too clean, too void of everything, but cool, a slightly cold temperature for a Vulcan. It would be perfect for other lifeforms on the ship, especially humans. He can smell the faint scent of disinfectants, the air just a tad too chemical and he knows where he is right away.

Sheets rustle over him as he moves his hands. He feels weak, unreasonably so. What happened? He forces his mind to remember, but he only sees darkness. He opens his eyes to look around, but still, that darkness remains, deep like the nights of a Vulcan desert, except he can see no stars either.

His hands lift to his face, exploring. There is a bandage over his eyes, a soft fabric. If he could remember what happened, he could calculate the chances whether he has lost his eyesight, but at the moment, without information, he has no more to go on than what Captain Kirk calls gut feeling.

Spock calls it the logical outcome of evidence and events. And they promise nothing good.

He finds it strange (and shows a lack of professionalism on Doctor McCoy’s part) that there is no one around him to explain why he is here. No one to-

Except there is something. In the clean air, he can feel it, sense it. Buzzing a similar way the ship does, a constant source of energy, something always there in the back of Spock’s mind, a presence, connected to him.

He sits up. The motion is dizzying.

“Who is there?” He asks turning his head where he thinks the person is. He pushes his legs over the bed, gently places them onto the ground. It would be illogical to just jump off and start blindly looking. A severe trauma he must have suffered, ought to have some consequences and logic dictates he must have cautions about-

Caution is gone the moment he hears the soft tad of footsteps. “Captain,” he says. It is not a question. He knows James Kirk is in the room, silently watching him and he does not understand this. Humans in general he finds frustratingly illogical, but Captain Kirk is beyond that.

“Captain, would you please enlighten me-“ In his haste to gain information, he places just a little too much weight on his legs and they seem insufficient at the moment to hold him. He falls forward, hands reached out to soften the blow he will receive from the ground.

Warm fingers catch his hand and he’s kept upright, but his legs threaten to buckle again from the stab of sheer pain he feels. This is not his pain. It is Kirk’s.

The moment is gone, and his thoughts are his own once again, but his hands are still held captive. Fingertips briefly, _softly_ caressing the underside of his wrist, his own digits pressing into palm. The whole indecency of the situation should make him move away, but he cannot force himself to do so.

He can feel Kirk move closer instead. “I thought you would die.” There is something unfamiliar in his voice. It’s filled with such pain, such misery, broken, weak and breathless and yet still Kirk’s.

“Captain, a fall such as this would not have any serious medical consequence to my body.”

“I meant the blast.” His strong voice, a voice intended to deliver commands, now trembles.

The fingers tighten around Spock, brush his skin with a firm stoke and this time, his legs do buckle as a wild shiver races across his back. This is highly inappropriate and Kirk is clearly not aware of what is happening between them, he cannot be. Spock should move, let him go, but instead, he holds on firmer. He clings to Kirk for support with shaking hands.

It’s wrong, so wrong, to allow this without cognizant consent from the other party, without enlightening his captain what is happening, but he cannot say the words, he cannot stop this.

It’s his human half, Spock knows, weak and primitive, so easily persuaded to follow the simple urges of earthlings, a half of his mind so feeble when it comes to resisting the basest of feelings such as anger, jealousy, lust, desire. Especially when it comes to James Kirk.

He feels again, through that inappropriate, stolen connection the shocking sensation of loss and fear, but there is something there now too, relief, bright among all the darkness.

He wants to see all this, look into sky blue eyes and see this pain and this… this… other emotion, this boundless light, this ignition that reaches him too and sets his insides on fire. It’s like looking at a sun head on.

It comes back to him, all of it. The Thoroz’ien merchant they picked up on one of the moons of Antares III, the package he claimed was filled with his ware, rarities, he said. The blast in deck five, the licks of flames on his skin. Screams. Chaos.

“Don’t ever do that again, Spock,” Kirk says restrained, all that emotion threatening to slip through, but he holds them in and Spock wonders for the millionth time just how strong this human is.

“That is a promise I cannot make, Captain.”

“Well, you better…” Kirk laughs, but it is different, too. More a breathless sob, than his usual deep rumble.

“Captain, why can’t I see?”

The hands move from beneath his palm then, and Spock should let them go, cease this incessant touch, stop this outrageous behavior, it is indecent, and so, so rude to let it continue without making Kirk aware of what is happening, of how intimate this is, how immensely more meaningful than what human culture dictates.

But as Kirk’s hands rise, so does Spock’s. Attached to them he remains, with two fingers at the heel of the captain’s palm, feeling him there, always there, wanting this sensation never to stop.

_Illogical_ , his brain says.

_Irresistible_ , his human half whispers.

There is light, cold and bluish. It hurts at first and Spock winces. The bandage falls from his eyes, and his hands drop to his sides in shock.

Vulcans do not appreciate beauty. It is meaningless to them. So, once more Spock finds himself grateful for his human heritage, for he does see beauty. He sees it in eyes that has the luminous color of Tau Ceti’s sky, the clear blue of the breathing oceans of Acamar. He sees it in the hair that makes him reminiscence of the never-ending wheat fields of Epsilon Solarii Prime. He sees it in every inch of James Kirk.

“Better?” The captain asks, lightly now. There’s a soft smile in the corner of his lips and no, this is not better, this is unexplainably worse all of a sudden.

“I can see now, Captain, yes. Thank you.”

“Bones says, you ought to be healed by now, but your eyes might remain slightly sensitive,” he motions at the dim lights of sickbay. “So, no sungazing just yet, Mr. Spock.”

_Define sun_ , Spock thinks. A star is a luminous ball of gas, mostly hydrogen and helium, held together by its own gravity. A heavenly body, a fixed point in space, a source of light.

His own gravity is falling apart the longer he looks into those eyes, the longer he’s forced to gaze upon this brightness called James Kirk. It would be easier to defy a sun’s gravitational pull than Kirk’s.

“I had no such immediate plans.” Spock assures him with a weak voice.

“All right, you stay here, I’ll go look for Bones. He ought to be lurking around here somewhere.” Kirk says, then, retreating, squeezes Spock’s hand one more time, because all the other touches were not enough, not nearly enough it seems.

He knows, it is a human gesture of reassurance, but all Spock feels are fingertips against his own, skin where there’s ought to be nothing, a persisting pressure and an overpowering spike of lust. With all this, he feels a strange sense of decadence, a corruption of his morality since he has no mind to stop this, to explain what it truly means. He revels in the touch, enjoys it for what it is: an intimate contact, a sign of an emotional link between him and Kirk.

For minutes after Kirk’s departure, his mind keeps whirring, like a machine, but a broken one, trying to explain things for which there is no explanation.

o.O.o

There is dim, warm light in his room. The setting has been adjusted to fit his currently healing sight. Although, he has noticed no difference to his vision as of yet, only a minor unpleasantness upon brightness.

Spock sits at the table his eyes fixated on his hands. He observes tendons rippling underneath the thin layers of pale skin, the green tint of his blood that shows through. Long, slender fingers and joints protruding like gnarls of tree roots.

There is the feeling of something missing, something essential that ought to be there but isn’t. Like a sixth finger, like another set of joints to increase the dexterity of his digits. It is an unreasonable thought, and he should forget it, but he does not have the power to do so, just as he does not have power to bring back what he misses so badly. 

His fingers twitch and he flexes his hands, fists them, then stretches them again just to see them move, just to make sure that they still can, that regardless of this emptiness, he is still able to function.

He watches those hands as if he had just grown them, fresh and anew, observes them as if they ought to have changed from Kirk’s touch, but they have remained the same. Everything remained the same, but still… it feels different; the idea inexplainable yet still sensible.

A quiet buzz signals someone at the door. Spock blinks, then he presses a button on the console. The door slides open with a gentle hiss, then a few moments later it closes behind his visitor.

He knows who it is. Somehow deep down he always knows, feels that strange presence, that magnetic pull, that unexplainable gravitation that drags him to this man. It’s a distressing thought, since such a course could end no differently than with a crash.

“Yes, Captain?” He says. His fingers shudder, tremble on top of the table and he wants to hide them. But instead he steels himself. He is a Vulcan, devoid of emotions. His human side might have this weakness, but it is buried deep as the crystalline remnants of Pollux III’s graphite moon.

A hand descends onto his shoulder, squeezes and is gone the next moment but it is more than enough to rip all that calmness from him. A torrent of air brakes through the tight clasps of his lips and his eyes flutter close. He forces them to reopen as Kirk sits down opposite him.

“I’m just here to check on you, Spock. How are you?”

“I am fine, Captain, thank you.”

Short, one syllable words are all that can be formed in the depth of mind, nothing more.

Kirk lays his hand on the table, inches from Spock’s. Spock watches it, not the hand but that inch of chasm, that small little gap of void, of dark hole that wants to yank him in. How can something so insignificantly small have such a great effect on him?

“Starfleet expects your report on the accident as well.” Kirk says quietly. “But it can wait. I told them to… well, I told them they will have to wait until you get better, so there’s no rush.”

He gives a fleeting glance to those bright eyes. They are striking in the dim light of his room. He cannot allow to linger for long, _no sungazing_ , he reminds himself, then casts his eyes down.

“Are you sure, you are all right, Mr. Spock?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Fingers drift over his, a nervous little motion at first, and Spock knows he should stop this here and now, explain, but he cannot, he does not want to. Fingers drift further and a hand envelops his. His heart beats frantically against his side.

“It wasn’t your fault, Spock. You have nothing to worry about.”

Nothing…

Nothing?

Not even this strange pull, this sensation that comes from so deep within it feels as if it has been there since his birth, carried across from his father and mother through genes, encrypted in his DNA?

Not this wild lust that courses through his veins as a thumb stokes the back of his fingers?

Not his own illogical actions as, against all common sense, he turns his hand over so fingers drift on his palm, instead, stroke with careless abandon the tip of his fingers in the most intimate… the most affectionate… a Vulcan has never…

His mouth opens, as he exhales shakily.

“Captain…” It’s a quiet warning and a desperate plea.

The hand rests on top of his, fingertips against his, warm and tender.

He fights the pull with strength that makes his muscles ache. How can something so sweet and caring hurt so much? He yearns for more, pines for those fingers to grip him again. He wants that crash, that pain, that reckless hurt, that second of weightlessness before gravity pulls him down again.

Kirk does not know, he _cannot_ know. He must though, he must feel it, must suspect that there is something more to this than a simple human contact.

Spock looks up, his gaze meets furtive blue eyes, blue like the mountainous ice shards of Delta Vega, and he loses it completely.

His fingers curl and he traps Kirk’s digits in a hold, strong and wild. Their skins pressed against each other, there is nothing there anymore, no air, no gentleness, there’s just force and for a moment he can see Kirk’s eyes darken, and he swallows hard, while Spock just gasps – gasps for air, hoping that it will quell this heady spike of desire but it only adds to the pain, makes this lust throb in every inch of his body.

It is unbearable, the want, the possessiveness, this longing to press against this brightness, to bath in its light.

He breaks away, he must, this is not right, this must stop. He jumps from the table but Kirk follows.

“Spock, what… what’s going on?”

Spock’s breathing comes harsh and rapid.

“Captain, I… you need to leave.”

“What’s wrong? Should I call for Bones?”

“No!” he grunts more vehemently than necessary. “No, there will be no need for that. Captain… please.”

Please what?

Please leave? Don’t come near me and don’t look at me?

Please touch me? Touch me again and don’t let go? Please let me feel your fingers on my skin?

Please _what_?

“Spock…” It’s uttered so quietly Spock can barely hear it, fearful little word, filled with unease and anxiousness, something Kirk should not feel, he has done nothing wrong. “Spock, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I… there’s something you need to know…” His heart throbs against his side, it almost hurts. He takes a deep breath. Kirk watches him. He looks worried and curious.

“Vulcans… we have… practices, different than on earth.”

“Yes, I know that much,” there’s a fleeting smile, shy. “Did I insult you? If yes, believe me, I didn’t mean to.”

“You have not, Captain. It is I, who needs… who must… Captain, I must apologize for my behavior.”

“Spock, I’m just a human,” Kirk sighs exasperated. “Please, explain, although whatever you did, I am not offended.”

Desperate, Spock watches him, wishing more than anything that he could place his fingertips against Kirk’s face, right over the focal points and sink into a mind meld. Words could be treacherous, but this, this could tell him everything, even more perhaps, than he needs to know.

But he knows he would go too deep, that gravity would pull him ever so deep. He would sink and never surface, stay below the waves of Kirk’s thought, float on his emotions, spikes of light spearing his body with heat. He would…. he would…

“Jim…” the name falls from his lips for perhaps the hundredth time, but he has never spoken it like this, with such desperation, three letters filled with despair and longing, an ache no words could describe.

His own hand lifts and he watches it, unable to stop the motion, unable to prevent the sentient limb from rising, fingers stretched slightly, invitingly, begging for one more touch, just one lingering stroke of fingers to ease this pain, this incessant burning.

He is not even surprised to see his captain mirror the motion, rise his hand and press it, slowly, serenely against Spock’s. Fingertips at first gentle, unhurried, almost timid, then the contact grows becomes a monster hungry and insatiable, a wild beast made of lust and desire as their palms press firmly against the other’s.

He is lost. All reason gone, the bright fire of logic extinguished by a wave of yearning, hot and scorching his skin, like licks of flame.

“This is Vulcan,” he says, inappropriate touches and inacceptable thoughts making him breathless. “In human customs it would translate to something similar to…”

He does not say it, words would not describe it correctly, the meaning, the true meaning of want and possession, of love and need and belonging would be lost in such a simple word as _kiss_. A starship’s database could be filled with all the words in fact and it would still not be enough, not even come close to unraveling all the meanings of this one touch.

Instead, he leans there and kisses his captain. He can feel the initial shock through soft lips, a body tensing as his free hand curves around Kirk’s neck. He senses a timid response at first, growing ever more frighteningly like a wave of tsunami about to wash away an entire civilization.

Then, he is being pulled closer and closer until not just their palms are flat against each other, but their whole bodies and he allows the gravitation to attract him, to draw him closer, haul him from his safe course and drag him to a painful, deathly collision, because there is no way, no logical way that one can survive this. This force is just too great, undeniable, overwhelming.

Now Kirk knows too, can feel it, too, all that passion and ache, all that poisonous desire, all of it has, at last, erupted to the surface and flooded their minds, the blood in their bodies.

The physics of the universe is constant. It does not lie; it cannot be twisted to suit the needs of one. Its logic is understandable, it is pure and clear.

All things with mess are brought towards one another. In some cases, the gravitational pull can be too strong, even irresistible. And after a point, there is simply no logic in fighting it.

His hand is grasped, an instinctive motion from a Vulcan, an enticing initiative from a human and he gasps into the kiss, panting, unable to control the wildness of his actions. A sensation shot through him, like an arrow, a spear, it goes through his sides, slashes his heart wide apart.

_I want you_ , the sentence hangs on the tip of his tongue, and Jim sucks it into his mouth, he’s the one who says it in the end, and Spock cannot tell anymore whether their thoughts got mixed up, or they truly both want the same thing.

It must be the latter, it must, the laws of physics cannot lie. There is order to the world, even if Spock’s mind is chaos right now, if no semblance of logic resides there at the moment, only lust and desire and want and affection, the universe does not fall apart just because he loves, gravity still keeps pulling and nobody can resist its force, not Kirk and especially not Spock.

They stumble through the room, losing clothes along the way. A thin black Starfleet uniform is not enough to stop the warmth that radiates from Kirk’s body, but it’s irksome enough that Spock wants to get rid of it as soon as possible. He rips it and he does not care. He hears laughter, deep, and rumbling and they fall down the bed almost naked.

He sees a flash of a bright smile; luminescent blue eyes filled to the brim with heat makes him stop suddenly. He looks down on Jim, drinks in his face, this expression, a heady mix of lust and love, of desire and warmth, of affection and yearning and tries not to cry out from the pain in his lungs. It’s not really pain; it’s love, aching agony.

He presses his fingers to the meld points and hesitates for only a second.

“Yes, Spock, do it, _yes_ …” comes the reassurance from Jim.

He does not even have to search for a connection, it’s there already, a line threading through their flesh and their soul, it has been there for centuries, it feels like. _Destined_ , the word comes to mind echoes in the bright light, unavoidable, inevitable like the pull of gravity.

Nothing, _nothing_ is more perfect than the body beneath his. He has seen beauty all across the universe, saw a frozen waterfall of diamonds, the twin suns of Risa setting over the Temtibi Lagoon, he has seen the most unique natural creations but nothing comes even close to the rippling muscles dancing beneath his fingers, the lush, velvet lips opening with a heavy sigh as Jim immerses in their joined minds.

Like a solar flare, blue eyes open, blinding in their intensity, and Jim takes his wrist. Spock fingers slip from the meld points, but the connection remains, bright and untearable.

Pleasure, like he never felt before rams against his chest as two of his fingers submerge in wet heat. He cries out, back arching.

“Jim… _Jim_ …” he chants the name, hoping it’s enough to signal, this is too much and not nearly enough, endless pain, and boundless pleasure. He grips in exchange, too. He strokes, fingers dashing on velvet skin, on firm muscles, curl around a firm member that draws the same desperate cries from Kirk.

Shy touches and timid kisses keep them in check, until unbearable lust boils underneath their surface and a moment comes, when all that simmering heat, all that blazing fire explodes. From then on, the force of this is unstoppable.

Irresistible lips suck on the skin of his neck as Spock dives deeper, hips thrusting with abandon into heat. He is held close, bodies welded together in the blazing fire that surrounds them. Teeth scrape his sensitive ear, just before Jim groans, “ _Fuck_ , Spock…”

Unrelenting, Spock continues, reaches beneath that body and lifts him, sits up with Jim, still inside him, one body, one soul while the connection holds on. Jim moves, shifts, hips grinding, muscles on his abdomen tensing and releasing in long waves.

He knows he is too strong for a human, his touch, if careless, bruises tender skin.

He cares not. Red marks bloom at the wake of his touch, fingernails drag lines onto sweaty skin. Jim groans, lips against his, hands pressed against each other, fingers entwined, they hold on.

The gravity pulls him in, inexorable, and he falls into blue stars – eyes wide open, pupils blown with ecstasy.

Boneless, senseless Spock crashes on top of Kirk. He breathes in his scent, and would he open his mouth, he could taste the salt on his skin, too. Hands seek out his own, fingers press against his and the flame flickers once more, weaker but still there, always there.

“Fascinating,” Spock whispers against Jim’s chest.

“What is?”

“My father said he married my mother because it was logical. He also said he married her, because he loved her. Until now, I believed this to be a conundrum, yet now I know it is a paradox.”

Jim huffs, cheeky smile twisting his lips. “Spock, you just fucked my brains out. Spell it out for me, will you?”

Spock looks up unimpressed at the blunt wording. He raises an eyebrow. “Loving you _is_ logical.”

Jim kisses his fingertips. The half-human, half-Vulcan gesture strangely endearing. “Well, I’m glad we came to the same conclusion.”


End file.
